My dad is a man of few words. No, it's not that he rarely speaks; he opens his mouth quite a lot. However, when he does open his mouth it is to say one of a very few key phrases. He repeats himself like there is no tomorrow.
Not that he thinks people aren't hearing him or that his point is not getting across. He simply has found a few words that he believes cover whatever needs to be said, in any situation. And he uses them as such.
"It might have been, I don't know!" "I've eaten a river of liver and an ocean of fish." "Skybird, this is Dropkick with a Red dash Alpha message in two parts." The observant reader will notice that while these are some of dad's favorite sayings, they are not even original material. His sayings are pulled from movies, tv shows, songs, even commercials. And these quotes and quips are a regular occurrence around the house. Dad, that horse is dead. Put the stick down.
However, I am just as guilty. I beat the dead horse so much I should open a glue factory. I listen to the same song over and over, watch the same movie over and over, and say the same thing over in over. In fact a good deal of what I say comes from my dad. What is this? My supposed wit is a knock off of a knock off.
I'm not trying to demean myself or my dad. Rather, I want to look at the similarity. Just like no matter how many times Mom and I roll our eyes, Dad will continue to say the same thing, and chuckle to himself every time. No matter how many times my friends have heard me say the same one-liner, I will continue to bust it out and then admire my own wit.
There are times when people here in Provo don't get what I say. They do not have a word for word script of over a dozen movies on file in their heads. When Dad says something, I can trace the source almost one hundred percent of the time and visa versa. However, none of my roommates have memorized Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid or Silverado or Persuasion or War Games or What's Up Doc. While dad and I may be taking turns for the rest of our lives beating that poor horse until there is nothing left, at least the pile of glue that will be left will keep us together.
I am a lot like my dad. And I am proud. It's not just having the same hair color or being short (thanks for that Dad), it's things like being called Scotina when I was little or hearing him call me Meems or listening to album Upstairs at Eric's by Yaz (over and over and over again). No matter how many times Don't Go blasts from the kitchen radio, that will not prevent my dad from singing along as he does the dishes. So, when I sing out loud to the same song over and over I may not have the best voice, but it is sincere. When I say the same comeback to the same person at the same time every day, I will still appreciate the humor as if it was fresh and original. When I quote the same movie incessantly, that will not prevent me from doing it all over again the next day.
Being on your own is sort of a tough thing sometimes. But, as long as I have my hair color, my eye color (are they brown? are they yellow? who knows...), and my intimate knowledge of the script of Roman Holiday I will have Dad with me. And that will never get old.
No comments:
Post a Comment